


Paint Our Rebellion

by spookyskittles



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Allison Hargreeves-centric, Allison worries too much, Brother-Sister Relationships, Gen, Nail Polish, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Reginald is only mentioned, Sibling Bonding, and Klaus maybe not enough, but his A+ parenting is everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22237090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyskittles/pseuds/spookyskittles
Summary: Three has a secret to hide from an empty house that’s always watching. Four stubs his toe.(Or, what's more rebellious than painting your nails pink??)
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 18
Kudos: 52





	Paint Our Rebellion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunriseseance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunriseseance/gifts).



> This is for Oceansweather. Thanks for converting me ;)

Number Three edged out of the supply closet, her right hand jammed into the pocket of her Academy jacket. Her father was in his office reviewing his research notes, Grace was in the kitchen preparing lunch, and the rest of her siblings were enjoying their free period outside. She was alone.

Alone didn’t mean unobserved, however. She knew there were cameras surveying her every breath and move; cameras masked from view. Twelve years as his daughter and she knew nothing about the man she called a father, but he knew every detail, large and small, about her and her siblings.

Well, she had a secret now.

She ascended the staircase to the upper floors and fought the urge to run. The walls of the house seemed to loom inward accusatorially, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She could feel the hidden eyes capturing the shake in the hand that graced the stair rail and the control in her step, covetously searching her expression for an answer.

What are you hiding?

What’s your secret?

She collided into someone, and her heart jumped into her throat. Number Seven stared back at her with sad, confused eyes.

“It’s only you,” Three breathed in relief.

The girls hung there in silence, two strangers, until Seven averted her gaze and shuffled past her, clutching her violin case to her chest.

_Do you want to share a secret?_

The question died on Three’s tongue as she watched Seven disappear behind a bend in the stairwell. She tapped the railing pensively and wavered on the stair, but ultimately continued in the other direction.

By the time she reached her room, she was dizzy with excitement. There was no more privacy here than anywhere else in the house, but the camera in her room was in plain view, at least. She kept her back to the tiny device perched above her door and fought the urge to pass it a wary glance.

She sat on the floor and held her hands underneath the frame of her bed, a place she was sure the cameras couldn’t access. From her pocket, she carefully produced her little glass secret and turned it over in her obscured hands with wonder. She unscrewed the cap, revealing a small brush coated with a thick layer of paint, and extended her hand, spreading her fingers as she’d seen Grace do once.

She held her breath and stroked the brush across her nail.

Never removing it from the shadowed privacy under her bed, she angled her hand toward the window to let the filtered sunlight catch her work. A glob of delicate pink paint squatted on her nail. She beamed and twisted her hand in the weak light, admiring the sheen that rose and fell across her nail like the tides. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

A shout from downstairs broke the trance, and her pride twisted into panic. Her father’s voice hammered in her head, furious. These weren’t her paints to use. Frivolous things were for ordinary people; people like Seven. Three was supposed to strengthen team-building and athletic skills during her free period, not distract herself.

Shielding her painted nail with her other hand, she dashed to the bathroom two doors down and fumbled with the handles for the faucet. She blasted the nail with a rush of cold water and scrubbed it roughly. Chunks of partially-coagulated paint slipped down the drain, and she didn’t stop until the water ran clear.

She shut off the water and gave her hand a frantic once-over. A thin, tattered U of polish still rimmed her nail. She scratched off as much as she could and hurried down the stairs toward the loud voices of her siblings.

If they were inside, free period was over. She’d lost track of time.

Three followed the sounds of shouting and crying to the kitchen, where a party had gathered. Four sat awkwardly on a chair, his bare foot outstretched while Grace applied disinfectant to his toe. The others watched, and Three joined them.

She tugged at One’s sleeve. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

One shrugged. “Nothing, really. We were playing soccer and Four stubbed his toe. It’s not so bad, he’s just being dramatic.”

“That hurts,” Four howled as Grace dabbed his foot with a cotton ball. Three rolled her eyes. Case in point.

“Hey,” One nudged her. “Where were you this afternoon? I could have used you on my team.”

“Sorry.”

He searched her face. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” She fidgeted with her hand and chipped what remained of her secret into tiny flakes that disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Free period’s not over yet, if you’d like to come outside with us,” he offered.

Three met his eyes for a moment. “Okay,” she said with a small smile. “I just need to take care of something first.”

One returned the smile. “Well hurry up,” he laughed.

“Meet you outside,” he added when she turned away. She could hear him shepherd the others out the back door as she left the kitchen.

She sprinted up the staircase and didn’t stop until she’d reached her room. She knelt by her bed and laid her head on the carpet. There it was. She grabbed the bottle and pulled it close to her chest, then sat back on her knees and opened her palms to look at her secret treasure one last time.

She would return it to the supply closet, where it belonged with the rest of her mother’s pretty things, and she would feel better, she decided. No one would know what she’d done.

“What’s that?” someone said from over her shoulder, and her stomach became all butterflies. She snapped her hands closed and spun to face the trespasser.

“Four,” she shrieked. “Get out!”

Four crouched beside her. “What are you hiding?”

_What’s your secret?_

“Go away,” she yelled, and shoved him with one hand. “This is my room!”

Four regained his balance but didn’t move otherwise. “Is that paint?”

Three glanced down at the hand still pinned to her chest. Her fist was too small to hide the whole bottle. Tears pricked her eyes.

“Why are you crying?”

She shook her head.

Four moved on, too curious about the bottle to dwell on anything else. “Can I see?” he said, extending a hand. She relinquished her secret with a hiccup and watched him turn it over.

“Nail polish,” he read from the label, then squinted at some smaller text. “Shake before use.”

Four had obeyed few directions in his short life, but elected to make a rare exception and shook the tiny bottle like he was trying to make a margarita on a horse.

Panic flooded over Three, and she grabbed his arms and held them down. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

Four stared at her quizzically, and she huffed in exasperation. “I don’t want him to see,” she said, and gestured to the camera above the doorframe with an almost imperceptible nod of her head.

Four eyed the camera. He opened his mouth to protest, but noticed the worry on her face and swallowed the objection. He glanced down and fidgeted with the bottle of polish.

“Want to try it?”

Three looked at him, bewildered. “You want to paint your nails? With me?”

Four shrugged. “I don’t really feel like going back outside, and I think it looks fun.”

“Me too,” Three blurted out before she could stop herself. Four grinned at her and unscrewed the cap. She watched wonder bloom across his face the way it had on hers, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s tricky to do yourself,” she warned, and he didn’t seem to question how she knew.

“What if I did yours and you did mine?” he suggested.

She pulled off her socks. “Okay, but not my fingernails,” she said, and slid her bare feet underneath the bed frame. She wiggled her toes against the rough carpet fibers restlessly.

“Ready?” Four said, brush poised. She exhaled and nodded.

Four’s work was clumsy at first, but his hand grew steadier and his stroke more deliberate with every nail. He finished and straightened with a breath of pride, and together they admired what he had done.

Three had to stop herself from petting each nail. “You’re really good,” she said.

“Thanks,” he replied shyly.

Three opened her hand and he passed the bottle to her. “Now I do your toes,” she prompted, and he removed his socks.

“You can start with this one,” he said, and peeled back the bandage on his toe. The skin beneath the nail sported an ugly purple mark. Three sucked a sympathetic breath through her teeth.

“Gross,” she said, and smothered it with paint.

She tried to emulate his control over the brush, but her hand shook with a nervous excitement she couldn’t quell. His nails presented a variety of problems: some were broken or creased, and others grew strangely, but she was attentive with each one. When she’d painted them all, she pulled away and studied her handiwork.

“They’re messy,” she apologized.

Four wiggled his new toes experimentally. “You’re too modest,” he said, and she blushed. “They’re actually nice to look at now,” he added, regarding them with amazement.

“Your toes are so busted up,” she giggled. “Don’t you ever clip them?”

“They sort of clip themselves if you stub them enough.” She rolled her eyes, and he grinned.

Three leaned her chest against her knees and stroked the glossy pink shell of paint on her toes. The bubbles in her chest fizzled out, and her expression shifted.

“What’s wrong?” Four said, prodding her with a finger.

Three picked at the edge of her nail. “We’ll have to get rid of them so Dad doesn’t find out.”

“Why?”

She faced him, surprised he had to ask. “He’ll be angry with us.”

“Isn’t he always?” Four pointed out. “If it’s not going to be this, then it’ll be something else. We’re never going to be perfect enough for him.”

She pulled her knees up to her chin. “But we’re supposed to use our free period to—“

“I know,” Four said, familiar with the line. “We did this together, right? That counts as team building.”

She gave him a skeptical look.

“Okay,” he laughed. “So it doesn’t. Well, let him be mad. Did you have fun?”

“Four—“

“Did you?”

She huffed, but the edges of her mouth twitched into a smile. “Yeah,” she said, and it felt good to admit. “I did have fun.”

“I had fun too,” Four declared, and hopped up onto her bed. He swung his feet out into the open, showing off his toenails to the doorframe, and grinned for the camera.

Three laughed, a surge of relief washing over her, and jumped up beside him. This wasn’t her secret.

This was their rebellion.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! :) Feel free to leave any thoughts or feels below in the form of a comment!


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